The Wasabi Chronicles
by marsianfellow
Summary: "I've been looking for someone to help out at my dojo for the summer. You'll clean, answer the phones, do some stuff here and there. If you do the work and time, I won't press charges." AU. Revised Chapter Two.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This show has been my guilty pleasure. The show is funny and awesome as it is intended to be for a primarily kids show, but I started thinking about what it would be like in an alternative, setting where they're older. This fic is very AU, so you've been warned. I hope you enjoy reading my first fanfic for the fandom. Please review, and I am open to ****_constructive_**** criticisms. The italics in the story either indicates thoughts or an emphasis on words.**

**Disclaimer: All the properties and rights of Kickin' It belong to Disney XD, etc.**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

I couldn't recall exactly why I decided to show up to school after one of the worst nights of my life.

I do know, though, that when you show up with bloody gauze bandages on your hand, people will stare and talk. But mostly stare. When you also show up sporting bruises on your face, people tend to talk A LOT. "Word on the street" (courtesy of one Donna Tobin, I'm sure) was that I had gotten my ass kicked in an underground fight tournament. I imagined the tale got even better when people noticed Frank and Brody were conspicuously absent.

I made it three feet into homeroom before Mrs. Ashley stuttered mid-sentence into her lecture and sent me immediately to the nurse's office. I should have saved myself the extra fifty steps right then and there and headed to the parking lot. As soon as the nurse appraised me, she called for the principal, who then called in the guidance counselor, who herself suggested calling in the campus policeman, etc. My dad, already on edge from last night's debacle, was contacted via phone to explain and revisit the glorious details of the event leading to my present condition.

I had to convince them that there was no domestic abuse. No, I wasn't involved with a "troubled" boy, or for that matter, "in fear of repercussions," that I'm too afraid to tell. After an hour of this repetitive hell, I finally snapped. "Look, if anything, you should be asking yourselves why Frank hasn't shown up at all."

I stormed off. I needed sleep. Maybe a couple pints of blood. I was so consumed with my angry thoughts, that I didn't notice a pair of arms roughly grabbing me.

"The hell – "

"Is it true?" Jack Brewer demanded. "About they're saying?"

Normally, I wouldn't have minded with arguing with him, but my bullshit tolerance meter was already low.

"That you're an ass?" I replied, shoving his arms away. "You betcha."

"I'm talking about the fight, idiot," he hissed. "Rudy won't tell me anything either, but he keeps asking for you. You want to tell me why?"

"How should I know? He's your sensei, not mine."

"Yeah? You sure that his dojo being vandalized had nothing to do with it?"

I kept quiet, but it didn't matter. Judging from his smirk, Jack had already gleaned the truth. His eyes had an angry sheen to them, and maybe a bit of hurt. His body language was tenser than I had ever seen in any of the matches. He stepped closer, and I had to stop the urge from taking a step back.

"What. The hell. Happened? I get a message from you telling me to show up at like five a.m. for that? Is this your sick idea of one-upmanship?"

"That's what you think of me? You seriously think I would intentionally do something like that?" I raised my bandaged fist.

"Do I look like the type that wants to go through _this_," I said, gesturing to my injury, "to get your attention?"

"I don't even care anymore. I'm just done trying to figure you out."

He said it matter-of-factly, without a trace of rudeness. So why did I suddenly felt drained? Why was there this peculiar ache in my chest?

_Done_.

I managed to survive my share of aimed gossip, sneers, and fights for the last year, and it took a simple word to finally unravel me. His expression began to change. Concern? Pity, maybe? My blurred vision made it hard to tell.

"Look, forget about it," Jack said quietly. "You've probably been through a lot already." He reached out tentatively and grabbed my shoulder; this time less forceful. His eyes roamed over my face, taking in the details of my bruises.

"Right," I said hoarsely and turned sharply away.

"Kim – "

I slammed the doors open and cut him off. God, my head ached. God, I must have looked like shit. My hands shook so badly that I kept fumbling with the keys. I finally managed to shove my keys into the ignition and floored the accelerator.

_He keeps asking for you._

To hell with that. I was not about to return _there_.

_But you owe him, Kim_, that unwanted thought came.

_Not really. If anything, I just did him a favor_, I debated back.

_Really, Kim? How is getting his dojo trashed a favor?_

_It could have been worse. It could have been burned down if I hadn't kicked Shane in the groin._

I told myself to go straight home; no stops; no alternative routes. Just my bed. I guess my subconscious must have kicked in at some point, because the next thing I knew, I found myself pulling into the entrance to Seaford Mall.

The Bobby Wasabi Dojo was attracting a horde of attention. The entire front window plane had been demolished. It looked like most of the broken glass had been cleared off, and the graffiti had been wiped off. The inside was a totally different story. Chopped off dummies and trash littered the whole floor. Mats were slashed and bits scattered about.

Guilt was a bitch.

"Oi."

And so was karma. This sensei, this bleached human cockatoo, was approaching me like I was some kind of wild dog about to go off on him. It would have been comical if not for the flicker of concern I detected in his eyes. He whistled lightly.

"The Black Dragons did a number on you, huh?"

I shrugged. "A little rough housing. Nothing I couldn't handle."

Ruddy raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment. For that, at least, he's already exceeded my expectations for this upcoming conversation.

"Okkayy. Let's go into my office, shall we?"

If his dojo looked like it had been swept by a tornado, his office resembled more of a fifteen year old's bedroom with over-the-top karate memorabilia. Rudy shuffled most of the paperwork on the desk, giving his best impression of trying to be organized.

"So, it's Kimberly, right?" he began.

"Jack told me you wanted to see me."

"Ok, so not the chatty type. Well, Kimberly, I wanted to talk to you today to see if you can tell me how my dojo ended up like this, and how moi ended up like that."

"Like I said, it was just a little rough housing."

"Somehow, I don't buy that."

"Fine. Square dancing."

"Look, I already saw the security cameras, so you might as well fess up. I'm not a dance expert, but I'm pretty sure that square dancing doesn't involve tossing your partners through my windows! In case you haven't noticed, your little do-si-dos did a number on my place. That Frank kid was still counting duckies the last time I saw him."

"Frank can count?"

The conversation bored me, but I became fascinated with that bulging vein on Rudy's forehead.

Rudy gritted his teeth. "You know, if I were you, I'd be relieved that he can count. Ecstatic. You know why?"

"Because I doubt he can do anything else with a fractured rib, tibia, and minor concussion for awhile," he said, without waiting for my reply.

"Look, I get it. We damaged your dojo, Frank fell, yada, yada, yada. I'm sorry. I'll pay for the damages, yada yada."

"That's not the point – "

"Then I don't know what else you're looking for. I already gave my police statements, so I don't need another interrogation."

I pushed off my chair and headed for the door.

"Do the words 'juvenille detention facility' ring a bell?"

_Shit_. I paused at his words, my hand clutched around the handle.

"If I wanted to, you'd be sunning there right now if I had filed charges. There's still got plenty of time for you to change my mind."

Rudy ignored my glare and gestured to the couch, beckoning me to sit. I slouched back as far as I could; making sure his eyes drew to my legs as it loudly met his coffee table.

"I was hoping to talk like grownups, but I guess I'll get straight to it. I know you weren't trying to destroy my dojo." He paused to see if I had a reaction. When I didn't comment, he continued on. "I've been looking for someone to help out at my dojo for the summer. You'll clean, answer the phones, do some stuff here and there. If you do the work and time, I won't press charges."

"Just like that?" I asked skeptically.

"That and I reeeallly want you to join my dojo," he pleaded.

And there it was: desperation. Wasabi had a star in Jack, but even he and a handful of students weren't enough to get his dojo by. I'm sure Rudy was trying for the Bambi effect, but his bulging eyes and pursed lips gave plenty of goldfishes a run for their money. For a moment, I entertained the idea of juvie. I could build up my street cred, maybe put those bandanas to use. I raised my hand in mock surrender.

"Fine. I'll see if I can work something out with my dad. But you're out of luck with me doing karate. My dad pretty much banned me from it too."

"Maybe I can talk to your dad."

"Let me put this another way: I don't want to do karate."

Rudy frowned. "Why not?"

"Seriously? You have seen your dojo, right? And you're asking why not?"

"Well…"

"Besides, I'm really not cut out for this honor, discipline thing. I pretty much lost in the last match, in case you didn't remember."

Rudy snorted. "To Milton? Please, you and I both know you threw that match. Even _Jerry_ picked up on it."

"Not. Interested."

Rudy continued to stare at me. He sighed and opened his drawer, reaching for something. "Alright. You gave me no choice but to pull out the big guns."

"You know what, juvie's starting to sound real good," I said.

He placed a crumpled sheet on the desk and slid it towards me. The bold headlines of "2011 National Karate Championships" stood out vividly. I suddenly felt uncomfortable and wary.

I looked up at Rudy with indifference and shrugged with exaggeration. "And?"

"You placed fourth overall in the girls sparring in your age category." Rudy tapped on my circled name. "Third overall in the katas. When I first saw you at that tournament in San Jose, I knew you looked familiar. That teammate of yours, Carson Hunter, won Jack's category that year."

I was trying not to fidget, trying to steady my breathing. The memories came fast and unbidden: Carson, him winning the whole shebang, my grandma with the stone eyes, police siren lights across our porch in Memphis, Carson crumbling to the floor in pain…

"You want to know what else I remembered?" said Rudy, more gently. "I remembered that look you had when you lost that last sparring round."

I tried hard to not waver from his gaze. Clearly, I underestimated that peroxide head of his.

"Why did you stop competing?" he asked.

"What do you mean? I was at San Jose, remember?"

"I'm talking about after nationals. You told Milton that you were going to wipe the floor with him on your first tournament back."

I smiled at the memory. Milton Krupnick had tried his hand at trash talking. He made the novice mistake of hinting to me of the work he put in to prepare for me.

"Why did you quit?"Rudy asked persistently.

"Why is it any of your business?" I snapped back. "There's no sob story here. I'm not interested in it anymore! Ok?"

Rudy looked unconvinced, but he clearly got the hint to back off. I might have pushed it too far this time. He pulled out two business cards and wrote down something on one of them. "Tell your dad to get in touch with me, and we'll work out the details," said Rudy.

He handed me the cards. I glanced down at them, raising my eyebrows at the scrawled cell number.

"In case you ever need someone to just listen," Rudy said.

I discussed Rudy's proposal the next day with my dad. No dice. He said he'd be out of his damn mind to let me continue that "jail-bait hobby." It took three more days, but he gradually and grudgingly warmed up to the idea. A threatening juvie record held more sway than anything else.

I managed to get by for that week. Fear kept the students at bay, and I was fine with that arrangement. The thing was, it kept certain types of people away too. Jack and his group of friend made it a point to avoid me in whatever way they could. I caught one of their stares now and then. Julie had stopped talking to me a month ago, but even she would look at me sometime with an array of motions. The brunt of the wrath came from the Black Dragons. They weren't dumb enough to try anything on school grounds, but I ran into one too many hard shoulders to count. My car got a complimentary paint job one day.

The only good thing that probably came out of this mess was the fact that my sister, Lily, and I got along for the longest time that I could remember. Usually sullen, she started to cut back on her catty comments and became less….well, bitchy. She sucked at sympathy, but the effort counted for something, right?

The détente didn't last long.

"So how was school, sis?"

I noticed that something was immediately off when a) she greeted me as "sis" b) she greeted me _voluntarily_ and c) she greeted me coming into my bedroom - a place that she had never bothered to step foot into before.

"You must be really bored if you're here on a Friday night," I commented.

"Speak for yourself. I'm going with Sarah to the concert, remember?"

As if I could forget. Dad and I had to live with her Biebier fever for awhile now.

"Right," I said. "Well, have fun then."

I turned my attention back to typing. Lily continued to stand at the door, hesitating. "Is there something you need?" I asked pointedly.

Lily sighed and made her way towards the bed. She had on the same guilty expression when Dad had busted her using the credit card. "There's something Dad is planning to do, ok? But if I tell you, don't go biting my head off, alright?"

"Go on."

"Dad wants to sign you up for anger management classes instead of that dojo job. I overheard him calling up that dojo owner. He told him he'll pay off the damages. "

I peered up at her in disbelief. Lily returned my look with an equal measure of her own. "C'mon, you had to know that was coming. Loooonng time coming."

"Why don't I just save him the money then and pack for juvie," I said, slamming the laptop.

"Seriously? Do you hear yourself at all? And you wonder why people think you're selfish."

"Umm, pot? Meet kettle. How many times did Dad have to bail you out of your crap? Shoplifting, bre – "

Lily jumped off, and came at me, pissed off. "I wouldn't need him to bail me out if you had my back in the first place!"

By now, she was inches from my face and yelling. "I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you."

"Back off," I warned.

Lily pressed closer. "Or what? Or what, Kimmy! Go ahead! Break out those kung fu moves."

"Back. Off."

"Or what, Kimmy?" Lily taunted. "You'll flip me through the window? Take your shot. Oh, but wait I forgot….when Carson's not here, you can't back up the talk."

"BACK OFF." I shoved her roughly to the ground. I regretted it instantly as soon as I saw Lily's eyes watering. She slapped away my hands and hastily got up.

"Screw you!" She chocked back on a sob. "You're pathetic, you know that? You pull everyone down with you, and you don't even see it."

Lily slammed the door in my stunned face. I stumbled back to my desk and proceeded to finish typing my homework assignment. The next few hours became a blur, and I continued to hear Lily's shrill voice long after she left the house.

I had crumbled up that damn card and thrown it away. I should have just burned it though, for all the time I kept staring at the waste basket.

_In case you ever need anyone to listen._

I scoffed. Right. Grand gesture from Mini-Ghandi, himself. Yet, the more I tossed and turned, the more his words became ingrained in my head.

Out of frustration, I scrambled from the bed and scavenged for that wretched thing. I wanted to tear it up into confetti. Wanted to physically erase remnants of it from my memory. I found myself instead dialing the digits and struggling to control my heaving breaths.

After a few attempts, I heard some muffled cursing. "Does the offer still stand?" My voice sounded thick.

"What?"

"That offer for you to listen? Can I still take you up on it?"

There was a long pause on the other end before he responded, "Kimberly?"

"Yeah."

Another long pause. "I'm all ears."

I propped myself against the side of the bed, preparing for our longest conversation yet. "You remember when I said that was no sob story?"

"Yes."

"I lied," I croaked.

* * *

**I know that Kim really sounds OOC. I'll try to incorporate her show characteristics somewhere in the story, and hopefully, it will make sense to how and why she ends up the way she is. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Alright, here we go. I want to thank swagmasterlol, karategirl77, biancy2712, so close I could feel you, and that guest for your very nice and encouraging reviews. Hopefully, my writing gets better from here. Please enjoy reading!  
**

**Disclaimer: As usual, all rights and properties of Kickin' It belong to Disney XD, etc. No copyright infringement intended and I am not profiting from this.**

**CHAPTER TWO**

If there was a potion I could take to forget about my time in Memphis, I would gulp it all down in one swig. No hesitation.

I could blame my parents for my beginnings there. After all, our "visit" to Grandma nine years ago turned out to be something else more permanent. Dad found that out himself when he came back from one of his business trips to an empty house and a stack of legal papers. If I wanted to be technical about it, I could assign the blame to further back than that; when their fights became part of the norm; when I could count on one hand the total number of times he had been home for the year.

Regardless of how "complicated" (my mother's words) their marriage was, their divorce proceeded quickly and got finalized with surprisingly little drama. Lilly and I saw Dad even less after that.

If I hadn't ended up in Memphis, I wouldn't have also met Carson. In a way, he wound up being partially responsible for my exodus to Seaford.

* * *

**MEMPHIS, 2005**

Looking back, the precinct wasn't exactly a proper place to raise us. Being a newly single parent with little income, my mother relied on my grandma to share babysitting duties. If you consider skipping to the police station after school to watch your homicide detective grandma work cool, I suggest you reevaluate your upbringing like I did. Particularly if said "work" revolves around thieves, drunks, murderers, potential murderers, belligerent citizens, rioters, soon-to-be-convicts, ex-convicts, looters, and more. If a little girl in pigtails and pink converses starts to play cards with "Mickey," the homeless drunk from Cell 1 more often than she plays on the playground? Be _very_ concerned.

Gymnastics became a solution to the babysitting dilemma, albeit a somewhat pricy one. Given the choice between hanging around with Mickey or fellow girls our age, my mom thought it was a no-brainer. Eventually, she found corporate work and breathed easier with the finances.

I still visited the station now and then. One day, I skipped in and found this skinny, beady-eyed kid spinning in my grandma's chair – a BIG no, no after I was caught doing the same thing.

"Uhhh….hi," I said.

The kid didn't answer back.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"What does it look like?" he replied back sarcastically.

"Well, you're using my grandma's chair. You're not supposed to be doing that."

"Well, she didn't tell me."

"We're not allowed to spin on the chairs," I said. "That's what my grandma told me. Somebody can get hurt."

He continued to ignore me and started putting more force into his spins. I decided at that moment I hated the kid. I glared at his blurry, sneering face. "You need to stop," I said, bossily.

"Whatcha gonna do about it?"

I kicked the armrest. The impact sent the chair crashing against the opposite desk, and the boy falling head first over the side. And that's how I introduced myself to Carson Hunter.

**SEAFORD, SOPHOMORE YEAR**

Lily never returned home from the concert. She called Dad to tell him she was planning to spend the next two nights at Sarah's. I only dragged myself up from the floor past noon when I felt the sun glare burning my retinas. My left cheek had the indentations left from my phone pressed against there.

Rudy probably got less than two hours of sleep. I spent the whole night (morning really) talking incoherently, babbling on long narratives and some random crap. I wondered if he even heard me through the crying. But he listened just as he promised; withheld judgment. I must have either dozed off, or he hung up at some point.

I knew the day was bound to get better when I saw Dad sitting at the kitchen island, coffee mug ready. His raccoon eyes and countenance suggested an incoming discussion that didn't involve ponies and sprinkles.

"Morning," I grumbled.

"Afternoon," he corrected. "And why don't you sit down for a moment, Kim. We need to have a _very_ long talk."

_Oh goody_, I thought but obliged him.

"Did you have another fight with Lily?"

"She said you were planning to send me to a shrink," I replied, neither confirming nor denying.

My dad palmed his face and massaged his forehead. "It's a group program for anger management. And would you rather have me send you to jail?"

"No. But I'm not going to waste my time to 'get in touch with my feelings' either. I already went through that psychoanalysis shit last year."

"Watch your language," Dad said sternly. "I've been too tolerant with you guys for too long now. This isn't open for discussion."

"I don't need counseling."

"You're not doing a good job of convincing me."

"Look, I already told you: they attacked _me_," I said angrily. "What was I supposed to do? Stand like a piñata? The Black Dragons were going to break into the dojo and trash the place. They almost burned the place down."

"What you should have done was called the police and let them handle it."

"Yeah, because you can always count on them to get it right, right?" I said bitterly.

Dad clenched his mug, but kept his composure. He knew what I alluded to, and I sensed that I had maybe crossed a line with him. It was hard to read his emotions though. The last time I saw him unrestrained was at Mom's funeral.

"I got a call from the Morris's attorney."

"They wanted to have you charged with assault and battery," he explained at my dumbfounded expression. "They came close to getting a warrant."

"Are you kidding me?! Frank attacked me!"

"Not according to them. And they're saying he may need months of rehab."

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. Except…"Wait, you said 'came close.'"

"Luckily for you, Mr. Gillespie provided the police with indoor security footage and identified some of the members. Somebody from that group also came forward and gave a statement. The Morrises agreed to drop any charges if he agreed not to charge Frank in return for vandalism, theft, and attempted arson."

My head throbbed so hard from trying to absorb all that. Rudy did all that? I felt even more embarrassed about last night. Wait. Did that mean our deal with juvie was off?

"I need an aspirin," I said.

"That makes two of us," Dad sniped. "Look, my point is this: you're used to getting used to getting out of scrapes. But at some point, you won't be able to, and when that happens, you're going to find yourself alone and no one to bail you out."

For the first time, my dad really looked the part of the parent burdened with the stress of raising teenage hell raisers. "You got lucky twice now, with what happened in Memphis and now here," he said seriously. "Someday, you're going to be the one on the ground and broken. The only question is, is it going to end up like it did with Frank….or Carson?"

_Well, I'll be damned_. We sat silently for what seemed like an hour – him, just solemn and me, with grudging respect. He had never been father of the year material, but he was gung-ho in making up for it now.

"I messed up." The words felt foreign as they left my mouth. "A lot. I know that."

"But,...I can't believe I'm saying this," I said slowly, "I think I owe it to Rudy to be working at the dojo."

"You don't need to worry about that. And I don't want you anywhere near that place or the Black Dragons."

"Dad, you can't afford to pay off for all those damages," I reasoned. "You shouldn't be paying for it anyways. Look, think of it this way: it's like I'm doing community service for the crime."

"I'm not about to send you to a place that involves fighting! Karate is what started off this whole mess."

"Maybe, but I'm not planning to continue it."

"I doubt that."

"Look, I want to do this and get it over with," I said firmly. "I _need_ to do this. I'm sick of feeling like I'm always indebted to someone. And I'm done with looking backwards."

**MEMPHIS, 2006**

Carson and I met as two bickering eight-years clawing at each other, and in a metaphorical sense, that's what our relationship became.

After that day, Grandma and Officer Hunter kept us separated. Still, it couldn't be helped that we ran into each other occasionally. I would come there sometimes after gymnastics practice, and he would be on his way out to karate class, sneering at me.

We pretty much continued on in this same manner for about the next year. We became so engrossed in trying to piss off one another that I guess it was inevitable that we would find something common to bond over. Ironically enough, our friendship started in the same room where our enmity began.

Carson was perched on his dad's desk, clutching a small trophy when I entered the precinct on a Saturday. He looked pretty glum for someone who apparently won something.

"What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" he shot back. "I'm waiting for my dad. Is that _allowed_?"

I didn't bother responding to his bait. I sat down on a side chair and pulled out my book. It became hard to focus with the constant thumping of his swinging feet.

"Could you stop, please?" I said after a while, irritated.

Carson complied. He then did something I did not expect: he hurled his trophy towards the trash can.

"What is your problem?" I demanded. I shoved the book back in my bag. "And don't say me," I said in anticipation.

Carson began to open his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. He laid back on the desk, hands propping up his head.

God he was so _weird_. I went over to trash can and bent down out of curiosity.

"Leave it."

"Little Ninjas Tournament, Second place," I read the plaque.

His face flushed. "It's nothing," he mumbled.

"That's still good. At least they give trophies if you're not first. They only give us ribbons in gymnastics."

"They're not the same thing. Your sport is soft."

"No, it's not. You don't know anything about it. You can't even do a flip."

Carson smirked and sprung off the desk. He looked around, calculating something. He then lurched forward and smoothly brought his legs over his tucked head. No wavering. No hands touching the ground.

I couldn't even do a front somersault yet. And my face must have shown that, because he was grinning.

"You mean like that?" he said smugly.

"Yeah," I said.

"Soft."

I changed the subject. "Why don't you want your trophy?"

Carson narrowed his eyes. "Because I'm better than second."

"Whatever," he brushed off. "That stupid tournament doesn't count anyways."

For a stupid tournament, he was caring an awful lot about how he placed. And I had a feeling I knew why.

"I'm not going to bring home anything less than second to my dad," Carson admitted.

"My dad never showed up to anything I did," I said quietly.

No words were needed: we both bonded silently over shared situation. Our parents worked too often and rarely made it to our activities. Carson's mom, at least, would still support him when she was able to beat traffic.

"So….can you show me how you did that?" I asked, swallowing my pride.

Carson thought for a bit. I see could the rumblings of a smart-alec comment somewhere. He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. Not like there's anything else to do. But if we're going do it, we're doing it at the dojo."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I decided to revise the material for the last chapter, and split the material into two chapters since it was so long. There is added new material for this chapter though. Much thanks to the people who reviewed:**

**TheLittleStupidThingsOfLife: Awww, thanks very much! I'm glad to hear that since I try my best to write about people with flaws that you can hopefully root for.**

**swagmasterlol: All will be revealed in time. :) This fic is pretty much a slow build. **

**Once again, please enjoy reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: All the properties and rights of Kickin' It belong to Disney XD, etc. No copyright infringement intended, and no profit is being made from it.**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**MEMPHIS, 2006**

I should probably clarify that I started doing karate not on a whim, but on a bet.

I still hadn't mastered that front somersault by the second visit to Carson's dojo. He was surprisingly patient with me. He had me practicing over a pit of foam and wouldn't let me anywhere near the mats till I had it down pat.

"Tuck in your head," he instructed.

I groaned when I landed on my back. Again.

"Again," he said, bored.

"Can we take a break, please?" I gasped.

My chest hurt, and my legs were red all over. He pulled me up and handed me a water bottle. "Thanks" I said.

I watched him practicing some movements while chugging away. I didn't know much about karate back then, but I could see that he had a way of drawing your eyes to him. His punches and kicks were fast, and his turns were fluid.

"So how long have you been doing karate?" I asked.

"Five years."

I spitted out my water. "What? Wait, so you started when you were like….five?"

"It's not a big deal. People do it all the time."

"If you say so. So when do you get your black belt?"

"He's not," a voice called out.

Carson halted in his motions. I saw him flinched momentarily before he smoothed his features to one of indifference. The owner of the voice belonged to a freckled, medium-build kid who looked around our age.

"Who's your girlfriend?" he sneered.

"She's not my girlfriend," Carson said at the same I asked "Who are you?"

He ignored me and dropped his duffle bag on the mat. "Playtime's over. You and your _girlfriend_ can go skedaddle."

"Dude, class hasn't even started yet," said Carson. "So chill. We're just going to be using the pit."

Said 'Dude' went up to Carson and got into his personal space. "Well, I'm going to need to use it."

Carson stepped closer, barely inches from the guy's face. "Well, _we_ are not done with it. And we had first dibs."

"Yeah, but this studio is only for members. And I don't remember seeing her around. And if Master Park found out, I don't think he would like that."

"It's fine," I said. "I got to go anyways." I didn't want to get in the middle of whatever that was. I didn't need a neon sign to tell me that they didn't hold hands and hopscotch together.

"Listen to your girlfriend," the kid taunted.

Carson grabbed onto my sleeve. "She's checking us out," he lied. Caron shot me a warning look. "She wants to join the dojo. So I think Master Park would want you to be _nice_ to her, Jeff."

Jeff glanced at me all over and snorted. "Are you serious? Barbie over here is going to do karate? She looks like the bag is going to be the one punching her."

Now, if there's anything that I can guarantee, it's that we Crawford women have a wee temper on us. I could look past the bag comment, but I definitely took offense to the "Barbie" label. I stomped up to him and jabbed my finger at his chest (I came up to his shoulders). "That's it!" I growled. "You. And me. On the floor."

Carson's jaw must have dropped at least three feet. Jeff, on the other hand, reacted as if Christmas came early. "Carson, are you hearing this?" he sniggered. "Your girlfriend wants to go all psycho on me."

"I don't need to know karate to kick your but! My family are all cops!"

"Yeah? Well let's make a bet then. One-on-One sparring. First one lying on the ground loses."

"If you lose," Carson said, turning towards Carson, "Carson has to quit."

"Wait, what?" Carson said incredulously.

"Bring it on," I retorted. "And if I win? You quit."

"Fine by me," Jeff said. "Been _not_ nice knowing you, Carson."

Carson pulled me aside while Jeff went to the side doing exaggerated stretches. "Are you out of your mind?" he hissed. "You can't win against him! And why do I have to be part of this?"

"Chill," I said, cracking my knuckles. "I got this."

Carson grumbled something about stupid blondes costing him his reputation as I headed off. Jeff was already doing his best impression of the karate kid on steroids. He bounced on the balls of his toes, weaving back and forth. He spitted each word out between his punches and kicks. "Get-" punch "ready-" punch "to-" kick "lose-" kick "Bar-"

Jeff fell howling to the ground, and rolled side to side. His growls eventually turned into some high pitch, banshee-like sound. I sauntered back to Carson and pretended to sip my water like nothing happened. It was hard to tell if he appeared impressed or horrified. I suspected a little bit of both.

"What?" I said. "My grandma always tells me to kick them between the legs."

Carson shook his head and bit down on his lips. The corners of his mouth tilted upwards. "Man, you are something else."

From that day on, we had each other's backs.

**SEAFORD, SOPHOMORE YEAR**

The rest of the school year went by quickly. Lily and I patched things up in our own way, and we soon settled back into our old habits. I called Rudy only once since then to make arrangements for the summer. He made no mention of my breakdown that night, and I was too embarrassed to ever call him again. My injuries had healed completely by the last day. I can attest to this because my eyes perfectly made out the details of Lindsay Bruin and her low cut top nuzzling up to Jack. Her pumps pressed oh-so-not accidentally against his jeans when our eyes met.

"Makes you want to gag, doesn't it?"

I turned my head towards the familiar voice. For the brief time that I had known her, Julie had never looked as unsure of herself as she did right then. I came to Seaford angry and determined to build my walls as high as possible. Julie, I thought, was someone I just talked to and saw at school. Somewhere along the way, she became more than an acquaintance to me. After we fought, I felt her absence just as keenly as I felt hopeful right then.

Julie broke into a relieved smile when I replied, "All she's missing is a pole."

"So, how are you holding up?" she asked tentatively.

"Been worse, so I can't complain," I said. "And you?"

"Good."

We slipped into an awkward silence before Julie rambled on. "I really wanted to talk to you earlier. When I saw what they did to you, I was just so disgusted, and I felt so horrible that you had – "

"I get it," I interrupted her, finding myself smiling. "Really. If I were Ty, I probably wouldn't want you to speak to me either."

Julie shook her head. "He's still letting them continue training over there. They're going around acting like _they_ didn't do anything wrong. Frank pretends like he still needs the crutches, even though he's doing cartwheels like nothing."

"Good ol' Frank," I said.

I closed my locker and started heading towards the entrance with Julie. Across the hallway, I ran into the last person I expected to see. Brody had made himself invisible around school since the incident. I had imagined this scenario playing out in various ways back then. A lot of them involved me doing bodily harm, but I was surprised at how calm I felt.

I reveled in his discomfort. He motioned his lips over and over, attempting to say something. In the end, Brody just clamped up and walked away, eyes diverted.

"What a coward," I said loudly enough for him to hear.

"You know, he's actually got it worse than you think," Julie said.

"I still think he's a prick."

"He hasn't been back at my uncle's dojo. I saw him going to the nurse's office a few times. I don't know what Brody did, but he pissed them off real bad."

Ok, maybe I felt some slight sympathy. Brody wasn't a bad guy, per se, but he stood aside and looked the other way too many times for me to overlook everything. He redeemed himself somewhat when he informed me of the planned vandalism…..and never showed up for it.

"I think I have an idea," I said darkly.

And of course, my first year here wouldn't have ended any other way except with explosions of confetti in the corridor, triggering off an array of sprinklers and alarms. My last sight of the school was the vice principal emerging from his office bellowing, "MARTINEZ!"

**MEMPHIS, 2008**

"You have got to be kidding me."

Carson was eyeing my pink, embroidered gi with disgust.

"What?" I said defensively. "My aunt gave me this."

"Yeah, your aunt does not love you."

I stuck my tongue out. "Whatever. I think it's cute."

"If you say so," Carson muttered.

I preferred my shirt and yoga pants any day over the gis, but since the dojo had a strict policy on studio wear, I had to abide. Still, it's not like there's a handbook over color coordination. I finished knotting my green belt and joined Carson on the mat for warm-ups.

Over the last two years, I spent more time at the Park Academy of Martial Arts than the gymnasium. I showed a natural knack for karate, apparently, and even Master Park had commended me on my progress.

Mom was initially taken aback by it. I overheard her commenting to my grandma once that she was surprised that Carson and I actually got along better with karate involved. She worried that it would come to blows one of these days. Grandma said that as long as we were duking it out at the dojo instead of the precinct, she was fine with it. Bar death, of course.

"Ohhh...where did you get those?" my friend, Gretchen, exclaimed.

"From my aunt."

"She's got good taste."

"Yeah," I said, smiling smugly at Carson, "she does."

"Your aunt must be color blind then," said Carson.

"Just ignore him," Gretchen said. She hopped to a spot nearby and started doing crunches. "So, you guys up for 'The Horse Tamer' this Friday?" she asked in between puffs.

"Count me out," Carson said quickly. "I saw the trailer for that thing, and I could barely make it through that."

"And also because you're grounded, I bet?" Gretchen said, grinning.

Carson grumbled "Maybe," and took a sudden, renewed interest in his stretches.

"Oh my god, Carson like punched this kid, Freddy, right as the principal came out," Gretchen sat up and explained to me. She and Carson attended the same public school. "Or so I heard," she said at his glower.

"Whatever. As long as it doesn't interfere with the next tournament, I'm good."

"His nose looked so gross. Anyways, Freddy told Lexi that all he said was that he saw your mom – "

"Freddy had it coming," Carson said in a hard tone; a tone that unquestionably demanded the subject to be dropped.

I decided to break the silence. "Friday sounds good. You want to spar again?"

"Ummm…no. I'm still sore from our spar from Monday." Gretchen jerked her thumb towards Carson. "Why don't you give Super Stud here a shot?"

"I'd like to, except somebody," I replied, looking pointedly at Carson, "still thinks he's too cool for it."

Carson just smiled condescendingly, like I was a kid he had to placate. "Kim, you are so not ready. I guarantee you; you'd be on your back five seconds flat."

"How do you know it's not going to be the other way around," I challenged. Wishful thinking, I know. But as his friend, I have an unspoken duty to cut his inflated ego down a notch. "And besides, even if I'm not, I'm only going to get better if I spar with someone like you."

Carson chuckled. "Look, you're not bad yourself, but you'd have to break my legs first if you think you have a chance against me."

**Seaford, Summer**

"You have got to be kidding me!"

I got to say: I was expecting their reactions to be worst. I mean not pitchforks and torches kind of level, but surely a lot more ruckus? Jack and Jerry were both unhappy, Eddie looked confused as usual, and Milton had the facial expression of someone who was resigned to having their lunch money taken daily (he probably did).

"Guys, you remember Kim, right?" said Rudy. "As you can see, she's going to be helping us out here. That's right – new Bobby Wasabi crew member! Stick that up your pie hole, Ty!"

Boy was Rudy's enthusiasm misplaced.

"S'up," I said, dryly.

"Rudy, can we talk to you for a moment?" Jack said.

"Just so we're all clear: I'm only going to be working here," I explained. I waited a beat. "Unpaid."

Jerry snorted. "Sounds like a sucker deal."

"No kidding?"

"No, no, it's not going to be like that," Rudy insisted.

"So I do get paid?"

"Course not – you broke my windows," he said. "But you get to wear that nice t-shirt every day. Annnddd, free lessons here at the dojo, and one complimentary lunch at Falafel Phil's."

Yeah….unpaid. That lime green monstrosity with the printed logo I'm wearing right now? Will be burned when I'm done here. Nice try with the "lessons." And unless I want a complimentary cockroach in my meal, I think I'll stick to paper bag lunches.

"Look, I don't care that she's volunteering here," Jack interjected. "I don't trust her."

"Yo Rudy, I'm with Jack on this one," said Jerry. "You don't know what this she-devil Black Dragon here is gonna do next."

"_Former_ Black Dragon," I corrected, "and when you say 'do next,' you wouldn't happen to mean like say…throwing a party while Rudy's out of town?" The guys shifted around uncomfortably.

"Or like charging for dance classes here on the side?" I added. Jerry began to blanch at that one. "No? Or holding spa days for cheerleaders –"

"How about not destroying our dojo, and then acting like a b-," Jack shot back angrily.

"Guys, this is getting really out of hand," Rudy interrupted. "Look, Kim, it's fine if you don't want to join the dojo, but as long as you're working for me, you're still representing the Bobby Wasabi brand, and you need to come in with a better attitude."

He turned to the others. "You guys, we've already discussed about what happened. Kim's already apologized and she's here to make amends. Alright?"

It wasn't. We all continued to stand around, exchanging mutual frowns and then some. Rudy clapped his hands and extended his arms out. "C'mon. We should all welcome her. Let's all recite the Wasabi Code."

"I'll stay out of your way if you guys stay out of mine?" I offered instead.

There was a chorus of "fine," "whatever," and "sounds good to me." Rudy threw up his hands as we all dispersed. "Fine," he said. He reached over and handed me a large stack of flyers. "Here, go pass these out. Remember, say –"

"Come to Bobby Wasabi for the best karate if you want a kickin' hobby," I repeated the stupid mantra he came up with. "Yeah, I got it."

"Don't forget to do a roundhouse kick on the 'kickin' part."

"Will do."

I grabbed my bag and made my way towards the courtyard. Of course, that would be possible if Jack would budge from the archway. I shot him an impatient glance. "Excuse me," I pronounced the words like I would for an infant. Jack rotated and blocked me as I tried to go around.

"Brewer, I'm not in the mood for Red Rover," I almost snapped.

Jack crossed his arms and peered down at me with the coldest look he reserved for his opponents. "I'm only going to go along with this because it's Rudy," he said quietly, "You may have him fooled, but I'm not buying this sorry little girl act."

And with those words, he finally stepped aside. I'd like to say his reaction was unfounded, but I did deserve it in a way. Shame, really, since it was such a contrast to how we first met.

* * *

Hopefully, you guys recognize a lot of the phrases, and callbacks done out of fun. As always, thanks, and I would love to hear on your thoughts and comments.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Here we go. Next chapter ho! Ratings will go up from here on out. I want to thank my awesome reviewers. Hope you enjoy reading!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**SEAFORD, FALL 2012**

You would think that with a school as large as Seaford High, I'd be able to blend in or at least experience the bliss of anonymity. Nope. Every new kid has to go through that initial rite of passage: scrutiny. Despite my dad's misgivings, I survived my first day intact; no fights; no detentions; no principal visits. I was even more satisfied with the twenty dollars Lilly had to fish out after losing the wager.

The Seaford High cliques, for the most part, resembled what I assumed was typical for high school cliques. The jocks gathered in their loud herds, the nerds secluded themselves from the jocks (they tried to anyways), there was a group of tight knit Asians chattering constantly, the skaters did their hacky-sack exchange every morning by the quad, etc. I didn't know if there was a group I belonged to nor did I care. I was only interested in a party of uno, and preferably for the remainder of high school.

I went as far as eating my lunch on the outdoor bleachers to avoid crowds. By the end of the first week, any perceivable interest shown towards me had dropped. I couldn't fight the boredom forever though and went as far as venturing into the cafeteria.

Being from Tennessee, I wasn't sure what the fine Californian cuisine could offer compared to the southern fare I grew up with. Turns out – cafeteria food suckitude stayed the same state to state. I never had turnips but I doubted that brown slop would even appeal to my old pet rabbit. I was already regretting my decision to not pack a sandwich. The lunch lady's blank glaze was not helping either.

"Excuse me, mam," I asked politely. "Is there anything you recommend?"

"Honey, I don't even know what half of this stuff is," she said.

_Definitely_ no to the meatloaf then.

I decided that the salad and apple looked the safest and grabbed them. A quick survey showed most of the tables occupied. I spotted that girl with the glasses from Geometry who offered her notes for me to copy: Julie something or another. She sat with two other girls in the farthest left corner in the back. Julie gave me a welcoming smile and motioned me over. Eh, Good enough.

As I maneuvered around the crowded tables, my apple rolled off my tray…..

And right into the crease of a black Vans sneaker – a dirty sneaker. The foot tilted upward, launching the apple into an outstretched hand of a guy in bright plaid. He was sporting a cocky grin to go along with it.

I tried to not look impressed. "Thank you?"

"Kimberly, right?" he asked.

At my quizzical look, he supplied, "History, second period."

"Riiight," I said.

I scrambled for his name, but I couldn't really recall him. You'd think it'd be easy to remember him with that bright shirt and those intense, dark eyes. Eyes that were covered by those long, silky strands… Someone coughed audibly, breaking our gazes.

"So Jack, you gonna make room for this fine mamacita here?" said the dark haired friend sitting next to him.

Mama what? I assumed it was a compliment – it had better be.

"Thanks, but I've got a table," I declined.

After an awkward silence followed by my equally awkward semi-wave, I started to head off.

"You forgot your apple," said Jack.

"Yeah, you can keep it."

The guys at his table started chortling and whistling. I'm pretty sure my face started to resemble that apple. Jack just continued to grin, unfazed by the commotion.

"I meant.."

"Nah, it's cool," said Jack. "My foot, my apple. Sorry about that."

"Here." He grabbed his pudding cup and placed it on my tray. "This will probably taste way better than that apple."

I don't get flustered easily, but with the way he kept scrutinizing me, I felt unusually exposed. He had this casual air about him but at the same time, he exuded this brash confidence. His smile gave just enough hint of a smartass lurking somewhere underneath. And I had to admit that I didn't find that combination entirely unappealing.

"Well, maybe I'll see around Kimberly," Jack said nonchalantly.

I didn't bother to correct his use of my full name. In fact, I was kind of mortified to find myself tongue-tied. So I did what my sixth grade self would have done: nodded and got the fuck out of there. I tried to block out the snickers from his table.

"Maybe I'll see you around," his friend mimed. "Smooth, bro."

"Really, Jerry? Like you're original? Fine mamacita?"

"Eddie, when you can actually pull off a date – "

"Looks like you got an admirer," said Julie as I sat down.

"Hmm," I replied noncommittally.

"He's still checking you out."

I caught myself in half turn as soon as I noticed the beginnings of her cheeky grin. I attempted to pass off that move into a half-hearted shrug, and turned my attention fully to my salad.

"Oh, you are soooo interested," she teased.

* * *

**MEMPHIS, SUMMER 2010**

I earned my brown belt over the summer – an accomplishment that Carson said not to let it get to my head. HA! More like someone was worried that the chipmunk blonde was gonna catch up to him and kick his ass. He was in the process of getting his first degree black belt. Our competitiveness towards one other apparently translated into tournament wins.

By the seventh grade, Gretchen had developed an unhealthy crush on Carson. And when I mean unhealthy, I mean with the subtlety of a 10x12 blown up photo of them encircled in pink, glittery hearts posted on her locker door – the dojo locker. If anything, the girl was bold and persistent. Gretchen became confident that her exotic looks (she was half Indian) and charms would reel him in.

If I was being honest with myself, I could see his appeal. Carson had the brooding, sensitive boy with an edge act down pat. He looked the part: straight, black hair down to his chin, broad shoulders, and pierced ears that screamed "cliché." His smile was readily one quirk away from turning into a smirk. The only trait that eclipsed his ego was his stubbornness.

Despite Gretchen's flirtations, Carson acted uninterested. He started to distance himself from Gretchen and hung out more with me. Whether the latter was a result of the former, I didn't know. Gretchen talked to me less and less. If she did talk to me, it was done with a falsely sweet tone. The dynamic of our trio changed, and tension snuck through, often in the forms of short tempers (Carson's), passive aggressive statements (Gretchen's), or exasperation (mine). It grew to the point where I joined pep squad out of yearning for new friends.

Little did I know, I was about to reacquaint myself with a familiar face that fall.

After picking me up from a school car wash fundraiser, Mom decided to treat me and Lils to ice cream. She stopped by her corporate building on the way to pick up some paperwork to bring home. We waited in the car, rolled the windows down to combat the unbearable Memphis heat.

Moments later, I spotted a sullen, light-haired guy exiting the building. This would have been trivial to me if 1) the boy had not stalked past our car and 2) immediately halted after a quick glance and walked backwards with the grace of a baboon. His scrunched up face came about a fist away from my perplexed one.

Rude much?

"Can I help you?" I asked. I readied my hand over the window switch button.

The guy kept staring. And then, he started to sneer. "Hey Barbie," he said.

I snapped my head up. Something about his tone, his inflection on that last word triggered a memory. He leaned over, rested his right arm on the car roof, and drew his left leg and hipbone behind his right ones in a peculiar stance – a stance that I myself had done in my katas except more upright. And then, I realized…

"You really don't remember me?" Jeff asked, annoyed.

Yeah. _THAT_ Jeff. It took a few more classes, but the Karate Kid finally upped and left the dojo. As much as he claimed to have done it out of fulfilling that bet, Carson and I called bullshit on it. I guess my pride would take a toll too if people started to make Nutcracker jokes behind my back.

"I remember kicking your but," I said coolly. I let my glaze drift purposely to his pants. "Oh, wait…." I drawled.

I was pleased to see him flinching. His hand reflexively shot out to the spot between his legs. He scowled when he realized what his reaction gave away. "Any little kid can get lucky," he said.

I was about to ask if he wanted to try his luck again, when I spotted my mother stepping outside. She was joined by a well dressed gentleman. I could hear snippets of the end of their conversation.

"…it'll be on your desk first thing tomorrow, sir."

"Alright, Miss Landry," the friendly gentleman replied. "You take care now. Don't overwork yourself." He looked around and beckoned in our direction. "Jeffrey," he called out.

"Huh, I guess your dad works here too," I said.

Jeff scowled. (Seriously, is that like his only expression?) "Your mom works here. My dad owns the building."

Jeff's dad approached our car, trailing behind Mom. "Mr. Cook, these are my girls, Kimmy and Lilly," my mom introduced.

Lilly and I shook his hands and murmured some polite phrases. Mr. Cook peered down at my attire. "You go to Strickland Middle School?" he asked, indicating to my t-shirt with the school logo.

When I nodded, he smiled broadly. "Fantastic! Jeffrey's starting there this year, so you'll probably run into him then." Mr. Cook patted his son's shoulder. "But it looks like you two know each other already. I had no idea you're both friends."

Jeff shrugged off his dad's arm. "No, we're not," Jeff said pointedly.

Mr. Cook didn't react to the rude gesture. In fact, he outright ignored it. He and Mom exchanged a few more pleasantries and then bid each other farewell. Jeff and I, of course, did not. If there was a god out there, the prick and I would never, _ever_ see each other after today.

I guess this god had a sadistic sense of humor because I was about to learn that so much could go so wrong that year.

* * *

**Seaford, Summer**

I think – know what? No. I'm _certain_ that juvie would have been less torturous than the public ordeal I went through today. Being a corner mascot is overrated. I could deal with the annoyed glances, even the occasional quips. The smartasses though? They're the ones with the free time to spare, testing the patience I no longer have to spare. I cottoned on to a ten year old's ploy after the fifth roundhouse kick demonstration when his spiny hands reached out for my chest. The temptation to strangle him was there – in his mom's presence.

So yeah, you could say I was starting to second guess this whole "job." Still, I wasn't about to give my dad the due satisfaction.

"Well, I survived," I cheerfully informed him.

Dad frowned. "I didn't say anything."

Dad sat hunched over the kitchen island, hands clasped together over a folded-up newspaper. Two mugs of cocoa were arranged horizontally before him. The sink was spotless and empty. A lone dish and fork that had long been dried occupied the drying rack. He couldn't have made his anticipation any more obvious than if he had tried.

"Mmm – hmm. So that other mug of hot chocolate you got there? It's not your own second helping then? You weren't waiting to see if I came back in handcuffs?"

"It could be for Lilly," he said.

"It could – if Lilly wasn't spending the night at Sarah's again."

Dad's mouth started to quiver. "I guess it'd be a shame to waste then," he said. He pushed the mug towards me.

"Might as well," I said, smiling.

It'd be a far stretch to say we had a loving father-daughter relationship, but we found some common ground lately. The talks occurred less frequently anyways. We became more comfortable and less hesitant around each other.

Dad dropped a packet next to my elbow. The schedule for the anger management center was printed out on the first page. I thought the red exclamation points and arrows were overkill. A girl with pink dyed hair and multiple piercings glared up at me from the brochure, as if she was mocking me.

"Well, what do you know?" I muttered. "My cocoa came with something after all."

"As per our agreement," he reminded.

Ah yes. I forgot about that little tidbit. Well, more like I ignored it, but like hell he was gonna let me back out of it now. If my dad was waiting for an argument, he didn't seem too disappointed when I remained silent and just sipped my cocoa. The silence went on for quite awhile. Dad hardly touched his mug. He continued to watch me, his eyebrows burrowed in pensive thought. He started playing with his Naval Academy ring – a nervous tic of his when he was preparing himself to bring up some unpleasant topic.

"So it looks like you've got a lot going on this summer," he stated.

I paused mid-sip. Where the hell was he going with this? "I…guess?"

"You should probably clear your schedule to travel," he said. "Lilly's heading to Memphis next Tuesday."

I'd just about choked on my drink. I might have even snorted some of it. The burnt aftertaste was nastier than the wet pressure clogging up my sinus, I assure you.

"You can probably join her in another month," he continued on, ignoring my sputtering noises. "It'd be nice for you guys to see Grandma since you were here on Christmas."

"I think I'll pass on that," I rasped.

"You know she hasn't been doing well with lately. I think she could use the company."

"Last I heard, she was doing just fine making friends with Jack Daniels."

Dad's jaw tightened. His mouth was set in a grim line. "I think you should cut her a break since she's had to deal with a lot," he said steadily. "A lot of that mess was yours if I remember."

"Then she should know that Memphis is the last place I should be at," I retorted. "And if _I_ remember, the Cooks started off this whole thing."

"Okay, you need to put aside the Cooks and that trial. This is about your grandma – "

"Trial? What trial?! There wasn't even one because Mama Cook decided to pull some bullcrap – "

"Language!"

" – BULLSHIT strings herself. That fucking – "

"That's enough!"

" – whole family can go to hell for – "

"KIM!" Dad stood up and slammed his fists on the counter. The vibrations sent some of the cocoa spilling over. His whole body shook in anger, and he was not even trying to control his breathing anymore. His cheeks were just as red as his eyes.

"JEFFREY COOK IS DEAD!"

* * *

**A/N: I feel like saying Dun, dun, dun, but you get the gist. I can safely say that the shit will hit the fan from this point on, hence the upgraded rating. Shout out to those that reviewed:**

**Guest: Thanks very much. I appreciated it. I wish there was a name I could address my thanks to since, ME might get confusing after a while, if you know what I mean. :)**

**rosa24: Thanks very much!**

**jackandkimforever: your review made my day! Enthusiastic reviewers like you really make it fun and encouraging for me to continue to write.**

**Once again, thanks for reading, and I would love to hear your thoughts and comments.**


End file.
